Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2003 17:42:26 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor
Subject: The Reluctant Retrainer - Chapter 4 - Gay - Authoritarian
This is the 4th chapter of The Reluctant Retrainer - part two of a
trilogy of novels of gay sex.
Keywords:
authority, control, slavery, punishment, re-training, submission, loyalty
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its
characters are copyright and private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
If you are underage to read this kind of material or if this material
will be unlawful for you to read where your live, please leave this
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Contact points:
eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
Web: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories
The Reluctant Retrainer by Gerry Taylor
Chapter 4 -- Four incorrigibles
On Wednesday, after my other luncheon appointment, Farouq al-Hamdi
had me collected at the Bank, again in the Rolls, and whisked to the
helipad at the airport where his private helicopter -- the new Puma ExCom
type - flew me inland and southwards for just over an hour into the
foothills of Dahran mountains.
For some reason, I had expected a coal-mine type of entrance to a
mine shaft with some sort of train carriages going in and coming out like
I had seen as a child in cowboy and western or coalmining films.
In fact, it was nothing of the sort, but a rather large hole in the
ground as it appeared at a thousand feet from up in the air. Landing
right some two hundred yards from its edge on a concrete helipad in front
of a hanger, I could see that the hole in the ground must have been
almost a half a mile across.
A constant stream of bodies in the distance like little ants were
working at various aspects of the mining, either breaking the soft
sandstone rock and the yellow subsoil with a form of local adze, or
sifting it, or taking the useless portion of it up out of the pit and
creating little hills of earth at some remove from the pit itself.
The hanger was attached to some rather Spartan but functional offices
such as any modern production facility might have. The only specific
difference here was that the finished product would be an opal and the
production operative a slave. The raw product seemed to create a lot of
dust in an already duty desert because of the soft sandstone in which it
had rested for a million years. But when the raw opal was found, it was
an odd spark of brilliance detected from the unpolished brittle gemstone
-- a promise of brilliance, beauty and wealth to come.
The general manager of the operation was waiting for me just at the
edge of the helipad -- a Lebanese who spoke English with a French accent.
He accorded me the reception which only royalty expected. It was very
clear that his Master - as he referred constantly to Farouq -- was so
very pleased at my accepting the assignment. About the four slaves, he
was really telling me little that I did not know already, so I asked to
see their files.
I had discovered not long after my arrival in Dahra that every slave
has at least a four page file -- two of photographs - head, profile, full
naked, torso, genitals, anus -- and of personal details of prior to
enslavement and of training after their `lifting' as the handlers call
it.
The first slave was French, then two Americans, and the last was an
Australian. All had reasonably similar characteristics of what might
generally be described of the `working class'. The French slave had
worked in a meat factory as a meat packer. The Americans were a lorry
driver and an electrician. The Australian was a house painter and
decorator.
All were fit, or rather none was overweight, and all were between 5
eight to 5 eleven. The Americans were cut. The French and the Australian
slaves uncircumcised. All were modestly built in the wedding tackle
department when flaccid, though none would ever again be using his tackle
in a matrimonial setting. The Australian and the American, who had been
an electrician, were listed as having a nice 10 and 9.5 inches
respectively when fully erect.
According to each one's file all were reasonably tight anally, and
for this type of slave, virginity was not of importance. The two
Americans had been married, the other two no.
I noticed that while I had been reading the files - the general
manager sitting in quiet attention -- I had actually stretched out
automatically on two occasions to help myself to water. This was the
centre of Dahra. Desert was on three sides with the Dahran mountains to
the west. It was hot. It was more than hot. We were inside in an
air-conditioned cool and I was casually dressed for the day that was in
it.
I asked where the four slaves were and was told in a holding cell in
one of the buildings.
I said that I wanted a quick fifteen minute inspection of the mine
and its working, which we did from a type of covered platform overlooking
the hole in the ground. It was a seven day a week operation from sunrise
to sunset with two hundred and thirty three slaves, twenty five trustee
slaves as supervisors, four inspectors who were in charge of each
production shift and the general manager who also had an office staff of
seven. It was quite an operation to keep going in temperatures which at
the upper edge of the hole must have been in the mid-eighties, and heaven
alone knows just what a hundred and fifty feet down in its bowels.
The general manager, who had been there six years, said they got in
some forty new slaves each year -- which to my numerical brain and
banking mind said that a slave died each week and an average slave would
last seven years.
I noticed that each of the supervisors and the inspector I saw had
the new electric Topper cattle-prod specially modified for slaves. The
general manager had a Siefens taser on his belt, much like a mobile
phone. I had heard that they could stop a gorilla at thirty paces.
Looking at the slaves, they were now a little bigger than the ants I
had seen from the air. Those thirty or so who passed us by pushing small
railway type cars full of subsoil seemed to be fit and well nourished.
Most were with some type or another of headgear, all totally naked,
unwashed, unshaven, all with a nose ring - which went from quite large or
small - many with ringed ornaments on their nipples, quite a lot with
tattoos, all wearing the right ankle titanium slave bracelet with the GPS
satellite locator insert.
The manual work itself was not difficult apart from its repetitive
nature and the bringing of the subsoil to the top -- the sandstone being
of a very friable and crumbly in nature. What was killing was the heat of
midday, and these slaves worked right through a twelve hour shift!
Farouq, I thought to myself, would therefore be spending a million
euro or so a year on new slaves. And here, he was spending a million on
the re-training of four of them. `Curiouser and curiouser' as they say.
There was more to this than just his reputation.
I had seen enough of the mining operation. The general manager walked
me back the couple of hundred yards to the buildings. It was a gentle
walk, but I could feel the perspiration dribbling down my back and
flowing down from my armpits as my body tried to rid itself of the heat
it was absorbing so unrelentingly.
I was walked into the holding cells to see the four recalcitrant
slaves. The first thing that struck me was the coolness of the building
after the heat of the sun as it came up to midday. The second was the
smell of unwashed bodies that only the really unwashed human body can
give off.
The four slaves were in a single large cell sitting down backs to the
walls. The front of the cell was formed of standard bars with a barred
gate. The very first thing that I noticed about all four of them was
their nose rings. It is strange how we look at people's faces first. The
second thing was their perfectly even tan all over their naked bodies. I
remembered that one slave had been in the mine of over a year and the
others for lesser periods down to one month -- the American lorry driver.
Maybe he was the catalyst or the key to this whole matter, I mused, as
Farouq's problems had only started about then.
The general manager was obviously taking no chances as he had four
supervisors in attendance each with a small type of steel rod with a
rubber handle on it. On the top of the rod, there was a hook.
One of the supervisors shouted `On your feet' and the four got up,
the American arrival last. I said I wanted to inspect each of them.
A supervisor when into the cell and clipped the hook of the steel rod
to the nose ring and let out the first of the two American slaves -- the
one who had got to his feet first.
He was about five foot nine in height so I had no trouble looking
directly into his eyes. He did not wish to keep eye contact, but
supervisor twisted the rod and I could feel the jerk empathically as his
face was brought round again for me to look at him.
`Easy, boy, easy. I am not going to hurt you, just to look at you,'
I said putting my hand flat on his hairless chest. It was warm and I
could feel his thudding heartbeat.
`What do they call you?'
He hesitated a moment and the supervisor twisted the rod again. I
held up my hand to tell the supervisor to stop.
`What do they call you?'
I asked again when the slave had time to focus his now watering eyes.
`Randy.'
The supervisor was going to twist on the rod again, because of the
lack of respect to a Master, whose questions must always be answered
first with the word `Master,' but I stopped him.
`Randy, if I take off this hook thing, will you allow me to inspect
you, without you doing anything stupid? Will you?'
He looked at me confused -- obviously the first free choice that he
had been given in a long time. My hand had not left his chest. His eyes
had ceased to water as they had been with the pulling on the nose ring. I
had my head very close to his.
He said `Yes' very quietly, and seeing my cocked head of enquiry,
and hearing my under-the-breath whisper in his ear of `Yes, Master,'
which I thought no one but he would hear, he replied just as quietly
`Yes, Master.' I had him confused. First game to me, I thought.
The supervisor unclipped the steel rod with practised ease and
quickly stepped back out the way as if a bull was suddenly on the loose.
Randy took his nostrils in his hand as if to wipe them or perhaps
just to sooth the stinging pain of the rod's weight on the ring in his
septum.
`Now, let me take a look at you, Randy,' I said as I looked his
body over which trim, hard and was devoid of any real fat. He was
ornamented differently from the others in that his nose ring was smaller,
but he had heavy metal ring in each of his nipples and a type of two inch
metal cinch at the base of cock and balls which forced a false erection
of about 9 inches and a tightening of his scrotum.
I ran my hand down his belly and onto his cock. That was even enough
to make it rise even further.
`Bend and spread,' I ordered and he knew what to do - bending over
and spreading the buttocks of his arse.
Although his file had said that he had no anal experience of note,
that had clearly changed. When he stood up, I said to him so quietly that
none of the other might even hear it, `A bit of action down there
recently, I see.' His eyes betrayed him when they flickered over to the
other American in the cell. His eyes also held defiance, but not really
any fear.
Giving him a smack on the butt, and pointing to a space at the wall
outside the cell for him to go to and sit down, I said to those in the
cell, `Next.'
As the Australian started to come out, I said to him, `Do I have to
have you hooked up to that rod thing?'
The general manager and the supervisors were looking quite nervously
a bit away on my left, and at the same time keeping an eye on Randy
standing at the wall, his hands by his side.
`No.'
There was hostility in his eyes a type of defiance and a fair bit of
anger.
Up close to his ear and again with my hand on his chest as previously
with Randy, I whispered `No, Master,' and waited until he had swallowed
hard and finally said very very quietly, `No, Master.'
Pete was the Australian's name and soon he too was dispatched to be
standing beside Randy. He, too, had seen some anal action.
The next one out was the Frenchman, whose name according to his file
was Raoul, and who had some sort of ring around his balls holding them
tightly together. When I touched them, he arched very quickly up and away
from my fingers, though I had merely brushed them over his balls. Either
the ring made his balls very sensitive - I could not imagine how it had
been put on - or else he was gifted with touchy balls. His nose ring was
large as indeed was his single heavy nipple ring which pulled down the
centre of his left teat.
When I ran my fingers up his perineum during the `bend and spread'
inspection, he shivered and clenched his butt hole, but not enough to
conceal that it had been heavily used.
When I said to his ear when he stood up, `Who has been fucking you,
my French friend?' his eyes opened wide, but like the others, not really
waiting for the answer I already knew, I smacked him on the butt and sent
him on his way.
The last American was another kettle of fish to my mind entirely. His
file said his name was Henry but known as Todd for some reason. He was
the lorry driver and, of the four at 5 foot 11, he was the tallest and at
82 kilos the heaviest.
His eyes smouldered resentment, anger, hatred and even more anger. He
seemed to be thrown off balance, when I said, `Todd, do you want to give
me your word you won't try anything on coming out of that cell?'
With his hands on his hips and forefingers pointing down towards his
genitals, he was in the classic stance of the alpha-male, proud,
arrogant, undefeated and unbroken leader. He was clearly the leader of
this bunch. How many of them he had fucked apart from Randy would remain
to be seen.
`Fuck you, mister!'
`Nice try, Todd,' I said quietly to him, `it will take a lot more
than that to get me even annoyed.'
Turning to the general manager, I asked if they had a neck and wrist
collar. They did. I told them to bring four and waited looking into
Todd's rebellious eyes as I did so.
Two of the supervisors approached him very carefully and put on the
neck collar and snapped the wrist restraints on to the back of it. His
wrists were now effectively tied at the back of his neck with velcro and
the hooks snapped onto the collar itself.
I ran my hand down his chest and touched his left nipple ring. It
flashed through my mind that Farouq must be right handed if almost all
his slaves have a left nipple ring, giving him a greater control over
them. Todd flinched.
`Whoa, Todd, whoa, I am not going to hurt you' I breathed in his
ear. `I am just going to check you out as I did the others. I am not
going to embarrass you in front of them. So, stand tall.'
His eyes showed confusion. It was not what he had expected and was
now caught off balance precisely where I wanted him. He was being
humiliated privately by me, but not publicly before the staff and his
friends.
`Now, Todd, spread those legs nice and wide and bend over'.
I almost whispered to him. `We don't want those supervisors forcing
your legs apart do we?'
And with two fingers on his outstretched left elbow, I bent him
forward as easily as pulling back a curtain. Perhaps, it was to show that
he could do it, but his legs were all of three feet apart and more.
I spread the cheeks of his ass easily and merely looked at his intact
anus. Giving him a smack on the rump and having him stand up, I again
whispered `So, Randy has never been up there. But you have been up
Randy. Top dog, eh Todd? In every sense of the word.'
He started to mouth `Fuck you,' but I put a finger to my lips and
said, `I heard you first time, Todd, no need to repeat yourself.'
I had the supervisors put the neck collars on the other three slaves
and I told general manager that I would be taking the four of them now
off his hands. He looked relieved.
I had checked with the helicopter pilot on the way to the mine, and
the `copter could take the weight of an extra four persons no problem. I
said they would be in the cargo area as they would be slave cargo. Again,
he had said no problem, and had pointed to the various metal hooks in the
storage area to which cargo was usually securely fastened, though not
usually of a living type.
Seeing a shower area -- clearly not frequently used by the unclean
nature of the four slaves -- in the general vicinity of the cells, I
looked into it and sure enough there was the usual slave shit holes.
Turning to the four, I signalled them in and said `We are going on a two
hour journey. Each of you will now shit and piss.'
One by one, they went in, arms cuffed in place behind their heads,
squatted in an uncomfortable balancing act because of their hands being
behind their heads, and shat and pissed over the shit hole. It was, in a
sense good to see, as it told me that they had learned something in their
slavedom -- how to control their bowels and bladder until told.
The four slaves were a bit surprised when instead of being walked out
to a lorry they found themselves being walked over to a helicopter and up
the three steps into the cargo bay area where the pilot clipped the
collar of each one to the nearest restraining hook to each salve on the
inside of the chopper.
I said to the four slaves, `This is not my helicopter. If you piss
in it, shit in it, or get sick in it, you will lick it up when we land.
Is that understood?'
As there was no real reply, I said again, `Is that understood?'
There was a murmur of `Yes, Sir,' `Yes, Master' and two nods, one
from the Frenchman and one from Todd the American. I banged shut the
cargo door and left them sitting on the floor of the chopper hooked up to
the chopper's walls
To be continued...